“My sister matters more, and you’re just an outsider,” said the husband, making his choice.
“Vic, don’t just stand there like a lamp post! Help me with the shopping!” shouted Emma from the hallway, shaking off her rain-soaked coat.
Victor reluctantly peeled himself away from the football match on the telly and shuffled towards his wife. Rain drummed against the windows, and the flat felt chilly from the damp.
“Did you really go to the farmers market again? Its daylight robbery there,” he grumbled, peering into the heavy bags.
“And where else am I supposed to get decent tomatoes? The supermarket ones taste like plastic. Helens bringing the kids over tomorrowI want to make proper borscht, the way she likes it.”
Emma untangled the bags in the kitchen while Victor watched in silence. She always went all out for his younger sisters visitslike it was Christmas morning. Only the best ingredients, a spotless flat, the good china.
“I dont get why you go to all this trouble,” Victor muttered. “Helens not fussy.”
“Fussy or not, guests should be treated right. Especially family,” Emma shot back, stacking veggies in the fridge.
She knew he disapproved, but she did it on principle. Helen VictoriaEmma always used her full name, even in her headwasnt just her sister-in-law. She was some unattainable ideal. Beautiful, successful, two perfect kids, a husband with a flash car. Worked in finance, dressed like she stepped out of a magazine. Next to her, Emma always felt like a frumpy sparrow.
The doorbell cut through her thoughts.
“Thats early,” Victor frowned at the clock. “They said after lunch.”
But it wasnt Helen and the kidsjust Mrs. Wilkins from next door, eyes red from crying.
“Emma, love, Im desperate! My Whiskers has gone missingthree days now! Have you seen him?”
Emma ushered her in and put the kettle on. Mrs. Wilkins was lonely; that cat was her whole world.
“Cant say I have. Maybe hes locked in someones shed? Checked the basement?”
“Everywhere! Even the bin men havent seen him. Oh, whatll I do without my Whiskers?”
Victor rolled his eyes and slunk back to the telly. He couldnt stand the neighbours dramas, especially weepy Mrs. Wilkins. Emma poured tea and sat with her.
“Dont fret. Cats are cleverhell turn up. Probably found a lady friend.”
“Hes neutered!” Mrs. Wilkins sniffled.
They sat for over an hour. Emma listened patiently while Victor tapped his watch pointedly. When Mrs. Wilkins finally left, he snapped.
“Weve got guests today, and youre wasting time on that daft old bat!”
“Vic, come off it! Shes heartbroken. Id be the same if it were my cat.”
“A cat! Its a bloody pet! Helens coming with the kids, and youve not even sorted the dinner!”
Emma clenched her teeth. There it was againHelen. Like life didnt count unless she was in it.
That evening, the relatives arrived. Helen Victoria was flawless, as always. Tailored blazer, sleek ponytail, designer heels. The kidsten-year-old Oliver and eight-year-old Sophiebarrelled straight into Uncle Vic.
“Uncle Vic! You promised to show us the new Xbox game!” Sophie chirped.
“Course I did!” Victor beamed. “Just get changed first.”
With his sister, he transformedlaughing, attentive, alive. Emma watched, baffled. Why was he never like that with her?
“How was the drive? Not too tired?” she fussed.
“Fine, thanks, Emma. Though the rain made the M25 a nightmare,” Helen replied politely.
Theyd never been close. Emma had tried, but Helen kept her at arms lengthlike tolerating her was just part of being a good sister.
Dinner was stilted. The kids chattered about school, Helen about work, Victor hanging on her every word. Emma just refilled glasses and passed plates.
“Remember, Vic, when wed sneak under the table to avoid Mums borscht?” Helen laughed.
“Blimey, yeah! You hid in the cupboard, I legged it to the garden!”
They reminisced about childhood, shared friends, family jokes. Emma might as well have been a chair.
“Emma, youre quiet,” Helen remarked.
“Just tired.”
“Shes always tired,” Victor cut in. “Comes home from work like a wet weekend.”
Emma flinched. Since when did he slag her off in front of guests?
“Works stressful for everyone,” Helen said mildly.
After dinner, the men flopped in front of the telly, the kids glued to tablets, the women clearing up.
“Need a hand?” Helen offered, half-heartedly.
“Im fine.”
Emma washed up, listening to Victor and Helen laughing in the next room.
“Emma,” Helen said suddenly, “I wanted to talk.”
“Go on.”
“Vic mentioned youre thinking about kids.”
Emma froze. Hed discussed that with her?
“Well, weve been married seven years,” she said carefully.
“Look, as his sister, I worry. Kids are a huge responsibility. Financially, especially.”
“Well manage.”
“Will you?” Helen raised an eyebrow. “No offence, but lets be real. Vics salarys modest, yours too. Rented flat, no savings. Kids need clothes, school trips, uni fees…”
Emma turned. “And thats your business because…?”
“Because if things go sideways, Ill be the one bailing him out. Hes always relied on me.”
“Were not asking for handouts.”
“You wouldnt have to ask. Hes my brother.”
Emmas face burned. So Victor had been moaning about money to her?
“Vic and I will handle it.”
“Of course. Just think it through. Maybe wait till youre more stable?”
In the lounge, Victor and the kids howled at some old family story.
“Emma,” Helen pressed, “think about Vic. Hes stretched thin as it is.”
“Funnyhe never told me that.”
Helen backpedalled. “Men dont like burdening their wives. Easier to talk to sisters.”
Emma nodded, seething. So his sister knew his struggles, but she didnt?
The rest of the evening was tense. Emma bit her tongue, feeling like a stranger in her own home.
Later, in bed, Victor sighed. “Nice evening.”
“Nice,” Emma echoed flatly.
“Why the face? Helen said you were off with her.”
“Was I? Maybe because she lectured me about our finances?”
Victor paused. “So? Shes got two kidsshe knows the score.”
“Knows enough to tell me not to have any!”
“Maybe shes right. Look at our bank balance.”
Emma sat up. “So you agree with her?”
“Im saying kids cost a fortune.”
“Im thirty, Vic. How much longer should I wait?”
“Dunno. Couple more years?”
“Couple? What if I cant have them by then?”
“Helen had Sophie at thirty-seven.”
There it was again. Bloody Helen.
“Do you even want kids?”
“Course! Just not yet.”
“Not till your sister says so?”
Victor whipped around. “This isnt about Helen! Its my call!”
“Your call after she got in your ear?”
They slept in silence.
Breakfast was worse.
“Auntie Emma,” Sophie piped up, “why dont you have kids?”
Silence. Victor choked on his tea.
“Sophie!” Helen snapped.
“What? Mummy said Auntie Emma wants a baby but Uncle Vics scared theyre skint.”
Emma paled. Shed even told the kids?
“Sophie, go watch telly,” Victor ordered.
After they left, the air turned to ice.
“Helen,” Emma said quietly, “how could you?”
“It wasnt like that”
“Sophie just quoted you! Word for word!”
Victor stared at his plate.
“Sorry,” Helen mumbled. “Didnt think shed repeat it.”
“Its not about repeating! Its about you discussing our private life!”
“Emma, stop,” Victor cut in. “She apologised.”
“Apologised? For undermining me yesterday too?”
“I was trying to help.”
“Help talk me out of kids?”
“Emma, calm down,” Victor stood. “Youre blowing this up.”
“Blowing it up? Your sister meddling is nothing?”
“Shes not meddling! Just giving advice!”
“Advice you instantly took!”
“Vic,” Helen stood, “maybe I should go.”
“Youre staying!” Victor snapped. “
